Collateral Damage
by Anastasia T Wolfe
Summary: Twenty five years ago, Murdoc fell to his death. Twenty four years ago, MacGyver admitted it was finally over. Three days ago, Murdoc came back. His son has been taken, leaving no trace. Following a barely distinguishable trail of taunting clues, the pair of old men stumble upon a multinational conspiracy which takes Murdoc back to the one place he never wanted to see again.
1. Chapter 1

2016

As an old man of 55, MacGyver was disappointed, almost, that he was still alone. All the women in his life had equaled to nothing; he hadn't seen Nikki Carpenter or Penny Parker in years and his string of lovers had abruptly ended at 40. He was sure that the only thing that kept him going was work.

Formerly a Phoenix Foundation troubleshooter, when Mac had been injured on the job in 1994, he had been placed in a comfy desk job, and now planned for field ops. His work kept his minds off things, but sometimes he even found himself reminiscing back to the good old days of him and Murdoc playing cat-and-mouse.

He glared around his empty house, filled with memorabilia of years gone by; his hockey days. He saw light dancing across the walls and the yells of some pissed off Indians. Someone was in the Den, watching TV.

 _But I live alone_ , MacGyver thought to himself, _and the last time I checked, Jack Dalton was in Syria helping several undisclosed parties smuggle national treasures out of the country._

He heard someone chuckle and his blood froze. He reached for his Swiss Army Knife knowing full well that it wouldn't defend him from his unwanted guest. That guest was sitting in his favorite chair, watching one of MacGyver's old westerns on his new HD LCD TV.

"Ah, MacGyver," Murdoc looked up at him with a sparkle in his dark eyes, "Miss me?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Murdoc," MacGyver breathed.

Murdoc rolled his eyes behind his blue tinted glasses, "After all these years as the greatest adversaries in the business, one would think that you would have thought of something more… imaginative to say."

"What are you doing here, Murdoc?" MacGyver composed himself almost instantly, waving a finger at Murdoc. Murdoc was now an older man with silver hair and a creased face, but he really hadn't changed that much. He smiled up at MacGyver, a broad cheeky grin that made him look twenty years younger.

"I was looking for a drink," he stood after a moment, smoothing out his suit, "But the only things in the fridge are mineral water, parsley and something brown which just lays there."

"Tofu's probably off."

"Off? It's evolving," Murdoc replied, "It winked at me. Leave it a few more weeks, and it'll walk out itself," he smoothed out his sleeves and plucked some lint off his jacket, "Do you ever clean this place?"

"Yeah," MacGyver told him.

"What? Once a year?" Murdoc replied, "That gives 'spring cleaning' a whole new and rather literal meaning."

"What do you want, Murdoc?" MacGyver almost spat, "Do you wanna kill me?"

Murdoc looked him up and down, "I think your so called 'health' food has beaten me to it. You're old and fat; you're no longer a challenge Old Boy! Even if I wasn't retired, I wouldn't waste my time killing you."

"Really? What do you do now? Run HIT's website, ?"

"I mostly spend my time as a professor of industrial chemistry," Murdoc said with a smile, "Better death through chemistry after all. Of course, I tell my students 'better life through chemistry', but that is neither here nor there."

"Who'd hire you?"

"MIT," Murdoc said almost smugly, "That's Murdoc with an 'h' by the way. I've been meaning to correct Peter on that little detail for years."

"Cut to the chase Murdoc with an 'h'."

"Shall we discuss this over tea and biscuits?"

"Seriously?"

"I could always shoot you," Murdoc reminded him.

"I'll pay."


	3. Chapter 3

"The one thing I hate about Americans is their inability to brew a good pot of tea," Murdoc complained. He had followed MacGyver down the street a little way to a small diner that offered tea, pointing a Derringer at him from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Please stop pointing that thing at me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Murdoc dismissed him.

"You've lost a lot of your tact, Murdoc."

"It was beaten out of me," Murdoc hissed, "And I blame you. To business, shall we?" he changed the subject quickly and MacGyver nodded, "I need a favour."

"You're kidding," he growled, "You tried to kill me!"

"Is that why I was the only one mortally wounded?" Murdoc arched an eyebrow then sipped his tea again only to cringe at the foul taste, "And do I also have to mention the years of physical therapy, thousands of pounds worth of plastic surgery and my recurring heart and chronic pain problems? Besides, I want to talk about my son."

MacGyver chewed on his biscuit, "Someone thought it would be a good idea to breed more of you?"

"Charming," said a woman who was sitting behind Murdoc in an adjoining booth. She moved to kneel on her chair and leaned into their booth. She leaned over Murdoc's shoulder. "We don't need him anyway."

She was pale, and her hair was a deep chestnut colour, slicked back with some gel. Her hair was cut at the nape of her neck, and her face was hard, her nose quite pointed. She was dressed conservatively in a dark grey suit. MacGyver looked from the woman and back to Murdoc, and back at the woman.

"Alexis," Murdoc looked her in the eye for a second, "It is not polite to intrude on a conversation like that."

"Dad. Shut up," she snapped, "I have some more information."

 _That would explain the similarities in their faces,_ MacGyver thought to himself, _and they have very similar eyes and cheekbones. Come to think of it, she looks a little like Murdoc when he was playing 'Sarah'. Except she has grey eyes._

"How many of them are there?" MacGyver asked cautiously.

"Only two," he said, not allowing himself to be insulted by the comment, "My son, Dane is a student at the University of Massachusetts in Boston, at least he was until he was abducted from campus three days ago, no evidence or witnesses."

"Not exactly," Alexis addressed her father, "I have campus security footage dating back two weeks. Dane was followed. I couldn't get a clear enough picture, so no facial recognition. I can send them off to you later."

"How'd you get the tapes?" Murdoc asked her.

"Remember that campus cop I had trouble with when I went there?" she asked Murdoc, who nodded, "I read him the Riot Act and asked him for a favour."

Murdoc smiled slyly, "Well done."

"He was definitely targeted," MacGyver interjected.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Alexis bit at him, "How lost we would have been without your glorious contribution to the evolution of human thought."

"Maybe they want me," Murdoc said, "After all these years, I am still top of the hit parade. The title of the world's best assassin is only gained by killing the last. Oh, and I did sent an entire agency to the wall. I'm sure that someone's still bitter about that."

"Have they made any demands yet?" MacGyver asked.

"No," Murdoc answered.

"Why does it have to be something to do with you?" MacGyver asked, "It could be your connections."

"Or mine," Alexis said stiffly, "I honestly think that Hartigan can't tie his shoes without me. You know, the same way you can't tie your shoes without Mum."

"Thank you, Alexis," Murdoc growled, and he looked across the table at MacGyver again, "Will you help us?"

"We don't need him," Alexis insisted, "Look at him; he's an old, fat bellend."

"Hey!"

"Look in the mirror."

"Alexis," Murdoc sighed, "This is hardly the way to ask a friend for help."

"A friend?" Alexis stood, "Is that why he left you for dead, what, eight times? What a real great fucking mate you have there."

Murdoc grabbed her wrist as she began to walk away, "We need him, Lexy," he looked her in the eye, "He is the best."

Alexis sighed and shook him off, "Fine Dad, you do it your way. I'll find Dane myself. Don't wait up for me."

Murdoc waited until Alexis had left before speaking again, "Don't worry about her. I taught her everything she knows."

"Did she join the family business or something?" MacGyver asked him.

"Hell no. I'd never make her do that," he dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand, "She's my little princess," he gave a sentimental smile, "She's an aide to the British ambassador. Needless to say I am very proud of her."

"Mmph," MacGyver snorted into his tea.

"Are you going to help me or not, MacGyver?" Murdoc asked, "But remember, if you don't, a twenty year old kid will be killed because of your terminal righteousness."

MacGyver smiled at him for a moment, "Alright, Murdoc. Same deal as last time. No guns, no killing."

"Fine," Murdoc sighed, "You're getting softer."

"No," MacGyver sipped his tea, "You're getting glaucoma."


	4. Chapter 4

MacGyver pulled in his long service leave and booked two tickets to Boston while Murdoc talked to someone on his mobile phone, perhaps in German. The flight itself however was long and tedious, the monotony only relieved by the boredom.

Murdoc sat across from him, keeping what appeared to be an eye on him. He was reading and rereading a tabloid newspaper, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Occasionally he would look around, especially when someone approached him. He waved away all refreshments and food that came his way.

MacGyver spent most of the flight lost in thought.

 _He looks the same,_ MacGyver thought, _but he seems to be more... cautious than he used to be, and less angry. He seems almost worried, and perhaps wants to be at the top of his game. Well, depending on who has Dane, it'll be one heck of a fight to get him back._

MacGyver leaned back in his seat a little. Business class was a little roomier than economy class, but he was still uncomfortable. Maybe it was because the person who had tried to kill him so many times sat across the aisle watching him the way that a hyena would watch a lion, distrustful, cautious and yet determined.

 _The last time that I saw an expression like that was on a Vietnamese POW. He escaped later that night._

The silence was deafening. MacGyver was beginning to grow uneasy with the silence, so he decided to break the ice. He looked across the aisle at Murdoc. It took him a few minutes before he deemed it safe to speak, "So, are you married?" MacGyver asked Murdoc, who turned to look at him for a moment, his glasses pushed down the end of his nose.

"Yes," He said plainly. MacGyver raised his eyebrows. "I understand how you may find that unbelievable," Murdoc arched an eyebrow. He looked back down at his newspaper, "Aliens in Nevada. What a surprise," He flipped the page and pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.

"How long?"

Murdoc glanced at up at him again, "In December, twenty seven years."

"To the same woman?" MacGyver asked sceptically.

"Of course," Murdoc pulled a face, "The timer starts again once you trade in."

MacGyver crunched the numbers in his head, "That means you married her in late 1989, right?"

Murdoc's face hardened, "So?"

 _That means he met her after supposedly falling in love with Penny,_ "What about Penny?"

"What about her?"

"I thought you loved her," MacGyver said matter-of-factly, "At least that's what she told me."

Murdoc sighed, "I'd recently taken a header off a cliff. I was a little confused at the time."

MacGyver cocked his head, "I guess I can understand that."

Murdoc turned back to his tabloid. MacGyver turned his attention back to the in-flight movie.

Hours passed and neither of them said a word to each other. The 747 landed three hours later, and Murdoc stood, straightening his back as much as he could in the cramped cabin. He held onto the overhead compartment as he waited for other people to leave and he stretched. As soon as most of the other passengers had left, he almost hobbled out into the aisle, and as he did, he only had one thing to say.

"Bollocks," He growled.

"You alright?"

"While I am touched by your concern, MacGyver, I do wish you would have shown it during an appropriate time," He growled, "Such as the several times you tried to kill me."

"Hey, you tried to kill me, remember?"

"You did kill me," Murdoc replied flatly, "I died on the table."

MacGyver had no idea what to say to that.

Murdoc mentioned for MacGyver to go through the metal detector first. He felt somewhat exposed without his Swiss Army Knife. Murdoc followed after him, placing his keys, wallet, watch and other assorted metal things in the bowl. The detector beeped, and a TSA inspector, a large black man mentioned for him to turn around and get against the wall. The TSA inspector frisked Murdoc, and MacGyver expected Murdoc to go for the kill, but he remained calm and still.

"Are you done?" He arched an eyebrow after a moment.

"Nothing here," The first TSA man called to his partner, the second who was standing by the metal detector.

"What set off the detector?" The other TSA man demanded to know.

"That would be my steel implants," Murdoc answered bashfully, "Three pins and a metal plate in my left leg," He reeled off, "Four pins and a metal plate in my right leg. Two titanium hips. Pins in my upper and lower spine. I'm practically made of metal."

"Were you in a car wreck or something?" The TSA man asked.

"A truck wreck actually."

The TSA man looked him up and down, "Shit," He said simply.

"Go on through, Sir," the senior TSA man said, and waved him through the metal detector.

"Thanks," Murdoc stepped through the metal detector, picked up his belongings from the bowl and slipped them back into his pockets, "Don't want to insult a spastic, right, mate?"


	5. Chapter 5

It took them almost half an hour to get out into the parking lot of the airport. After five minutes, Murdoc had thrown the flyers he had been given back at the religious people who had given them to him. MacGyver was far more tolerant of the flyers and religious people, taking all flyers that he was given and only dumping them once he left the airport. Murdoc honestly looked like he was going to start shoving the flyers back down people's throats, either that or he would start beating people down like that scene from Aeroplane.

They left the airport together, and MacGyver blinked the sun out of his eyes. It was a mild and sunny for Boston during the Fall. It was colder than he was used to, but he was on the opposite coast to what he was used to. Murdoc on the other hand was very comfortable as he walked out onto the tarmac. He knew exactly where he was going, so MacGyver followed him out onto the pavement of the taxi rank.

"I hope you have a plan, Murdoc," MacGyver said, "You and taxicabs don't mix."

"I always have a plan, MacGyver," He said bluntly, "I have already arranged for transportation. Oh, by the way, you might want to be very careful what you say in the next three minutes."

"Why?"

Outside the airport waiting for them a few feet down the taxi rank was a tall woman with greying brown hair wearing dress pants and a university tee-shirt that read 'campus crusade for Cthulhu; if your god's dead, blame mine'. She smiled as Murdoc approached her. She had a lovely smile, and she was absolutely gorgeous despite her age and her grey eyes cut through everything she looked at. MacGyver was certain that he had seen her somewhere before.

"Hello Darling."

She smiled a little more, "Hello Sweetie."

 _Sweetie?_ MacGyver thought, _did she seriously call him Sweetie?_

They threw their arms around each other and kissed passionately as if they had not seen each other in years. MacGyver looked away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other feeling incredibly uncomfortable. He hated public displays of affection.

As they parted, she glared at MacGyver. Her smile turned to a deep scowl and she visibly tensed, balling her fists. That was when MacGyver caught notice of a thin, silver wedding band. Clearly the lady was Murdoc's wife, of almost twenty seven years and from their display of affection, clearly still very much in love.

"Jane, please don't do anything rash." Murdoc started, "After all, we are still under security surveillance here."

"I won't if he won't," She growled. The way she said it was filled with contempt, for MacGyver.

 _Well, I ought to be polite to the lady,_ MacGyver thought. He approached her after a moment and held out his hand to her, "Hi, I'm MacGyver."

"I know;" She said bitterly, "Keep your hands to yourself," She turned and mentioned for him to follow them, "Move it or I'll be more than happy to leave you behind."

MacGyver put his hands back into his pocket quickly. Jane Murdoch didn't look too terrifying, but to attract the attentions of a world class assassin, and seemingly scare him straight, she had to be. She was only slightly taller than Murdoc and slightly smaller. She even had a beautiful shape for an older lady. She looked like she was strong enough to kill someone even now, and MacGyver was certain that if he had shook her hand, there was a good chance of losing one of his fingers.

Murdoc and Jane were having a hushed conversation a little in front of him as the small group walked to a waiting car. They occasionally glanced back at him, keeping an eye on him.

"You know he's not to be trusted," Jane said.

"He's been helpful before," Murdoc said calmly.

"Another time, another place," She dismissed it, "He's dangerous. We have to be careful around this dopey prick."

"He has his moments."

"So does a sheep dip, but it mostly goes down," Jane snapped back, "Can't you ever get it through your thick head that working with this mug always turns out bad for you, for us?"

 _I guess villains are the heroes of their own stories,_ MacGyver mused, _and apparently he told these stories to his family._

"Another time, another place," Murdoc dismissed it. Jane gave him a dark look, "you get to say it."

"In May of '91, I had to dress two babies every morning, and all because of this..." she glanced at MacGyver for a moment, "fat and faded Captain Planet rip-off."

"Can anybody join this conversation?" MacGyver asked them.

"Go ahead, throw in your two cents," Jane sneered, "Just do it with your mouth closed."

Murdoc rolled his eyes and sighed, "Oh, Jane."


	6. Chapter 6

Murdoc's wife said nothing more, but the way she was looking at MacGyver told him volumes.

As she drove the Ford sedan through Boston and out into the older part of town, the sun caught her greying brown hair and made it sparkle with bright red. Her face was very beautiful, but her stony expression hid much of her charm. She watched MacGyver closely, poised to kill. If Murdoc watched him like a hyena watching a lion, Jane was watching him the way that a cheetah eyed an injured gazelle or a fox eyed a chicken. She was ready to tear him apart if he even dared think the wrong word.

"Murdoc," MacGyver finally spoke.

"What is it, MacGyver?"

"How did you escape last time?"

He glanced back at MacGyver from the front passenger seat, "A magician never reveals his tricks."

"You think you're a magician now?" Jane laughed a little and smiled, and for a moment he saw her charm shine through, "I think I need to deflate that ego of yours a little."

"Are you saying I'm not skilled?" Murdoc shot at his wife.

"Of course you're skilled," She said, "You can shoot a kangaroo at three hundred yards and you're probably one of the highest maintenance husbands in the world."

"Ha."

MacGyver didn't speak again. The conversation ended the way that it had started. The car turned down a long driveway lined with trees. The house in the distance appeared to be a colonial style manor house. It was huge. As the car got closer, he could see a range of other plants that he had never seen before amid the perfect rose gardens.

"How could you afford this?" MacGyver asked him.

"Did you think I killed people for the fun of it?"

"Sort of."

"You sick git," Murdoc sneered, "Well, sometimes, but I only enjoyed the ones that deserved it. The money was always the issue. I saw the world, I lived my life to the fullest then paid my way through university, and I definitely could not have done that without the money."

"Whatever."

"Would both of you shut up?" Jane said bitterly, "Stop acting like children," she pulled her car up outside her garage, "Now," she said turning around to face MacGyver, "What's so special about you?"

* * *

As MacGyver approached the manor behind Murdoc, he heard a dog barking. He couldn't tell if the dog was large or not. Seemingly out of nowhere, a tawny coloured streak of fluff flashed out from underneath the rose garden and sunk its needle-like teeth into MacGyver's ankle.

"Killer!" Murdoc shouted, "Stop it!"

MacGyver tried to shake it off. It was a small dog, a nine-inch tall Pomeranian. It gnawed at his ankle with alarming enthusiasm. Jane Murdoc doubled over laughing.

"He's a vegan," Murdoc said to the dog harshly.

The dog let his ankle go, sneezed in disgust and stalked away back to his house.

"You have to excuse him," Murdoc said to MacGyver as he looked down at his slightly bloody ankle, "He thinks he's a lion."

Jane was still laughing, "Why'd you call him off? He could have succeeded where you failed."

"Ha ha," Murdoc growled, leading them to the house.

Jane grabbed his shoulder, "Are you seriously going to let him in our home?" she snapped at him.

"I thought you were with me."

"Up to a point, but this is ridiculous," Jane growled.

"Do you want Dane back or not?" Murdoc snapped back, "If you don't want to follow my plan, go find Alexis."

"Fine," she said bitterly, her face hard, "in the interest of protecting your stupid ass, I'm in."

Murdoc whispered something to her, and for a moment a small smile fluttered across her lips before disappearing again. He turned back to MacGyver, "well, are you coming?"


	7. Chapter 7

The inside of the manor was just as impressive as the outside. It was a wood panelled grand home with a large staircase at the end of the entry hall. It was a huge old place which seemed to suit Murdoc's own particular style. It was decorated in a late Victorian style. The wood panelling reached almost halfway up the wall, and from then, the walls were painted a deep blood red. The wooden staircase was intricate and fiddly with beautifully turned and carved beams. It was absolutely beautiful, and MacGyver wondered how Murdoc could ever hide in a place as dramatic and expensive as this.

 _I guess when they're arguing, they could each use different sides of the house._

Jane mentioned to a large arch that led to a lovely sitting room with turned furniture and antique-looking wing backed chairs, "Sit down, you're making the place look untidy." She shut the front door behind them. She disappeared through the house, heading towards the back. MacGyver heard a door open and close somewhere.

It was beginning to get cold, so MacGyver was a little surprised when Murdoc sat straight down rather than light the fire. Killer, the little ball of fluff, leaped up into Murdoc's arms, and Murdoc stroked the dog gently. He looked like the stereotypical movie villain, which was probably what he wanted.

"Welcome to my Lair."

"Very funny, Murdoc," MacGyver growled, "Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I did," Murdoc spread his arms a little before stroking his dog a bit more, "They called off their search, something about statistics. Of course, they don't know what I know."

"Go figure," he replied darkly, "I can get Phoenix to pick it up again."

"No, MacGyver," Murdoc told him, "with the people I'm on the wrong side of, a full scale search by a major branch of government would attract too much attention," he narrowed his eyes, "and then they'd likely kill Dane, or worse, send him home in pieces."

"Do you have any idea who'd do this?" MacGyver asked him.

"It would be easier to tell you who wouldn't want to do this," Murdoc stroked Killer again; "I've cheesed off a lot of people during my illustrious career."

"How about you list the top three or four?"

"Sonia Chapel, I sent her to prison; Kurt Fitz, Nicholas Hellman's bastard son; if Pablo Delasora's forgiven me, I think I'll grow wings," Murdoc counted them on his fingers, "I could go on for days."

Someone knocked at the door. Killer jumped out of Murdoc's arms and strutted off to inspect the noise. Jane looked through the peephole and opened the door after a moment. Killer yapped at their new arrival, and Murdoc watched from his chair.

"Can I come in, Mrs Murdoch?" The person at the door was a clean-shaven man with black, untidy hair wearing a dark coloured motorcycle jacket and held a helmet under his arm.

"G'day, Chief, come in."

He entered the foyer, put the helmet down on the floor, shrugged out of the jacket and put it on the floor too. He was younger than Murdoc, probably in his early fifties. He smiled at Jane.

"I was looking for your bad half."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, "He's in the Den with an old..."

"Friend?"

"I wouldn't use that word."

He entered the room, a folder under his arm. He gave Murdoc a cheesy movie-star grin, "Hello, Old Boy," he said in a really horrible British accent.

"Quit it with the accent, Maxxy," Murdoc rolled his eyes, "What are you doing here?"

"Who's this?"

"Max Bower, Captain of the Boston police," Max said with pride, "I got you a present, Eddie."

Max handed Murdoc the folder, and he flicked it open. Max found himself a seat on the leather lounge, and within a moment of him sitting, Killer had jumped up on his knee, trying to get all the attention that he could get. Max patted the dog absently.

"It's not even my birthday," Murdoc said, examining the file closer, "what can I do to repay you, mate?"

"Don't shop me," Max grinned at Murdoc, but then he glared at MacGyver, "can I talk in front of this guy?"

"Go ahead; I had his tongue cut out."

He shrugged, "That's good. I can lose my job for giving you that."

Killer jumped down from Max's knee and went off to patrol his house. The dog was clearly bored.

"Everything from the files is there, Ed."

"CCTV?" Murdoc asked.

"Stills are in the back of the folder," Max said, "If you need anything, text me, but in code."

"If I ask you for a Fosters, you know I'm in trouble."

Max got up from his seat and reached out to shake Murdoc's hand, "good luck, Pal," he grinned again and left the room, "I'll see you guys later," he collected his jacket and helmet and left the manor.

MacGyver glanced at Murdoc as Max left, "you're friends with the captain of the Boston police department?"

"So?" Murdoc counted, "It's a semi-free country."

MacGyver turned away again and faced the ornate fireplace. Photographs lined the wooden mantelpiece. Most were of Murdoc, his wife and his children. There were a few wedding photos; one that MacGyver particularly liked was one with Jane in a tasteful cream wedding dress with six other men in suits holding her up. They were in the middle of nowhere, some place with red dirt and cliffs. They looked so out of place there. And another thing, all the men had rifles slung across their shoulders.

He thought that Murdoc wasn't watching, but he was, and saw the picture that MacGyver was looking at, "Believe it or not, they're all my brothers-in-law. They used to absolutely hate me. Now... they hate me less."

"Why do they all have guns?"

"The wildlife," Murdoc dismissed with a shrug, "I believe that's Kakadu National Park, Katherine Gorge. It's a beautiful place, but you have to contest for the best spot against the crocodiles, bird eating spiders, snakes," he cringed a little as he said it, "and the infamous Drop Bear."

"Drop Bear?" MacGyver asked.

Murdoc grinned his trademark wild smile, his eyes sparkling.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare start without me!" Jane shouted from across the house, apparently she heard everything that they had said. Within a few moments, she came back into the Den with a bucket of wood chips, "they're Australia's only native bear, bigger than a grizzly and meaner."

"They've got great, big, pointy teeth," Murdoc started.

"And they shit cough drops on you," Jane growled, arranging the wood in the fireplace, "They're also ferocious."

"Remind me never to go to Australia," MacGyver said bluntly. He looked at some of the other pictures. There was one of Murdoc about from twenty or more years ago. Murdoc was asleep on a sofa, his arm draped defensively around a small baby asleep on his chest, his other arm lolling over the side of the sofa. There was a pistol holster under his shoulder. Clearly that picture was one of the oldest, and likely the first he had with his kid. It was likely that Jane had taken the picture when nobody was watching. With any luck, she took that gun away from the baby.

"You pansy," Murdoc sniffed.

There was also another one with a bunch of kids and a man dressed as Santa handing out presents. Two other young children stood by his side dressed as elves. MacGyver could only assume they were his kids. Murdoc's hair was still black then, and the oldest of the kids by his side was about ten. It was Alexis, he could tell because she had her mother's eyes.

"Who's this?"

"Me," Murdoc said simply, looking up at him, "Every year, I go to the Children's hospital as Father Christmas and hand out gifts. When Alexis and Dane were younger, they'd come with me."

"Really?"

"Yes," Murdoc said, "I've done it for twenty six years now. What's the matter, MacGyver? You look like you don't believe me."

"Why would I?"

"I know you don't trust me, and at this point, I really don't care," Murdoc snapped, "Now, I need to show you something."

Jane simply smiled humourlessly and lit the fire.


	8. Chapter 8

Murdoc flicked on the lights at the top of the basement stairs, and MacGyver followed him down into the basement. The basement had been converted into a private study with a polished wooden desk and a large lab table in the centre of the room with a large and complicated apparatus set up on it. Murdoc lit the Bunsen burner underneath a large round bottomed flask and turned the collar until the flame was blue. A brown liquid in it began to bubble after a moment.

 _Well, better death through chemistry. Murdoc was obviously always somewhat of a mad scientist._

The walls of the basement were lined with corkboards and by the desk was a large whiteboard covered in complex equations. Coloured strings and ribbons joined up different things and points on the corkboards until the entire room looked like a spider's web. As MacGyver approached the setup, it appeared to be an extremely complex murder-board.

"What's this then?" He twanged one of the strings with his finger.

Murdoc turned towards him and slapped his hand, "No touching, MacGyver. Haven't you learned anything?"

Murdoc placed the file on his desk next to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (the British version) and picked up a large set of test tube tongs and a 'world's greatest Dad' cup. He took them over to his apparatus, loosened the clamp around the flask and poured the brown liquid into his cup, "tea?"

"No thanks."

MacGyver followed the string closest to his hand to the corkboard to his left. It led to a scrawled note 'Fitz (Hellman/Kurt)seen with Sonia Chapel- no transcript'. On the opposite board, it led to the board of HIT. On either side, the string wrapped around several different pins until MacGyver couldn't even keep track of it any more.

"Do you do this all the time?"

"This is how I think," Murdoc said simply, readjusting his glasses. He took a sip of his tea.

"You should see a therapist before your OCD gets out of hand."

Murdoc scowled, "Just because you wander from disaster to disaster half-cocked with nothing but a knife and a paperclip does not in any way mean that I have to act the same way," he snapped, "Now shut up, come here and stop touching my stuff."

Murdoc sat down at his desk, pulled a laptop from one of the draws with a flourish and started the computer. He opened the file. MacGyver stood over his shoulder, looking at the file.

"Would you mind stepping back?" Murdoc glanced at him, "I don't like anyone hanging over my shoulder, especially you." MacGyver took a step back.

MacGyver picked up the police file, "No clues, witnesses or suspects. I see why the police didn't want to follow this up."

Murdoc snatched the file back out of his hand and slapped it back on the desk.

 _Don't tickle the sleeping dragon._

"Um. Nice place you have here, Murdoc."

He took another sip of tea as he opened up the internet. He logged into his email. When he found the one he wanted, he opened it and downloaded the attachment, "It works for me." As soon as the download was complete, he deleted the mail and closed the internet. He opened the file after a moment.

"Have a look at this," Murdoc spun the computer a little so they could both watch it. He sipped his tea again.

The file was a grainy security video from a camera smeared with white, the footage that Alexis had promised to send. It was a film of one of the courtyards. Two figures were in the foreground, a man and a woman. The man had dark, curly hair and a very recognisable smile, dressed in jeans and leathers. The woman didn't look familiar to him at all.

"Is that Dane?"

"In the flesh," Murdoc said.

"Who's the woman?"

"Her name's Sarah Connor, first year medical student," Murdoc answered, "She takes one of my biochemistry classes."

"Is she his girlfriend or something?"

"How should I know?" he rolled his eyes, "I don't make a habit of spying on my kids."

After a few minutes of watching their soundless conversation on the screen, they walked together out of the range of the camera. A few moments after that, a figure in a dark hoodie followed a short way behind the pair. Murdoc switched to another camera. Sarah and Dane were still being followed. He switched the camera feeds again. The hooded figure was still following the pair. He switched the camera feeds again. Sarah had left Dane's company, but the person in the hoodie hadn't.

"I thought you of all people would have been more careful about who your kids associated with," MacGyver said, "I mean, HIT, your many enemies and all that."

"Are you suggesting that I should spy on my own children?" Murdoc snapped, "How long do I have to look over my shoulder? How long do I have to look over theirs?" Murdoc asked with a sigh, "I faked my death, twice; I trained my children in advanced self defence and ran about the country for three years after Alexis was born. It seems all that preparation went to cock, as always," He sniffed, "why can't they leave us alone?"

"I'm sure you did the best you could," MacGyver said with a small reassuring smile.

Murdoc glanced at him, "Incredible. That was almost nice."

"Don't get used to it," MacGyver said bluntly, "What about your suspects? Maybe someone's going for your title of featherweight HIT champion."

"I thought of that," Murdoc said, "That's why Sonia and Fitz are on the top of my list. Fitz wants to avenge his daddy and rebuild HIT from the bottom up."

"He has to be an assassin."

"He went in as I was going out," Murdoc answered, "I never cared for his style."

"What's so bad it upsets you?"

Murdoc chose to ignore those subtle barbs, "You'd hate him too," He sighed and crossed his arms, "while I have always been partial to killing implements that create large fireballs, I always tried to avoid collateral damage. If you remember correctly, MacGyver, I wanted to keep you out of my little... confrontation with Pete," he took something out of his desk and handed it to MacGyver, "Fitz is the opposite," MacGyver opened the file and began to flick though it, "He's a big fan of thermite enhanced C-4 explosives, and inflicts maximum damage. You can track Fitz by following the trail of corpses."

MacGyver flicked through the file. It was a complete dossier on Fitz Helman, ranging from parts of his early life to the present. The horrible thing was that Fitz Helman was indoctrinated into the life of an assassin. His mother died when he was six, and he was taken by his father and trained to be a ruthless killer. He had a vicious streak a mile wide. Murdoc had tacked on a handwritten list of all bombings that Fitz had been implicated in, claimed responsibility for or had certain traits that matched Fitz's idiom. As Murdoc had said, thermite enhanced C-4 explosives were Fitz's favourite, and he often tied several different explosives and trigger mechanisms together, and sometimes they were in very different and overlooked places. He was an even better and far more meticulous bomb-maker than the Ghost, and far more cruel.

"What a nice young man," MacGyver said sarcastically.

"Such a pity," Murdoc sighed, "he was always such a sweet boy. He brought me flowers and chocolates after you dropped a building on me. He reminded me so much of myself when I was young."

"What's Sonia's beef?" MacGyver changed the subject.

"What's Sonia's only beef?" Murdoc spread his arms a little, "She strives to be the best. She killed Nicholas and tried to take control of HIT. Everything she did up to that point was designed to place her into a position to allow her to seize control," he leaned back, "MacGyver, as you are a blight to my permanent record, I am a blight to hers, and believe me, she holds a grudge far longer than I."

"That must be a long time."

"Very funny, MacGyver. I must remember to send you crutches for your lame wit."

"Do you have any other suspects?"

"Jack Bates, CIA. The CIA followed me across the world too, couldn't let the DXS have all the fun," Murdoc smiled humourlessly, "Come to think of it, Pete was always a better tracker. Of course, that would give Bates a motive to kill Pete, not me. There's always James Costello, MI6, he tried to recruit me as a double agent in the seventies. His endgame was to turn HIT into his own personal Delta squad. The last I saw him; he was running off to Cuba to lick his wounds. The Israelis are as good as always."

MacGyver put his head in his hands for a moment and turned around to examine Murdoc's spider web of clues, "Does everybody hate you?"

Murdoc arched an eyebrow, "MacGyver, I was very good at my job, but as you Americans would say, I was a bit of a maverick. Needless to say, I ruffled a few feathers, but I have more powerful friends than powerful enemies."

"Maybe someone wants a leash on your friends, or wants you to get something from them," MacGyver suggested, "They're all good theories, but how do we prove any of them?"

Murdoc smiled, "I know a guy."


	9. Chapter 9

After sneaking around Jane, MacGyver and Murdoc left the manor together and caught a cab to one of the sleazier places in south Boston. The cab dropped them off in front of a dirty looking bar surrounded by Harley Davidson motorcycles.

"I hope you're joking," MacGyver said bitterly as the cab shot off. Murdoc shrugged, cocked his head and began to walk along the street, aided by his silver topped cane, "you're contact works here?"

"He owns it," Murdoc said flatly, "It and about thirty other pubs in America, forty seven hotels, eight mines and a duck pond in Montana," he mentioned for MacGyver to follow him towards the bar, "Liam also runs the world's best intelligence network. He employs hundreds of hackers from across the world to keep him up on all the latest news and current affairs- stock market, government scandals, military secrets and the weather. Liam's got files on people that haven't been born yet."

"Sounds like a great place to get information."

"Mmh. There's a terrible waiting list. I've been trying to call him for days," Murdoc replied, "The only option is to crash his party, a trick I learned from you. Come on."

They walked into the bar. It was very different from the Helman Club, which was under new management now. This place had turn-of-the-century chic with some twentieth century grime and a distinct 1920's Chicago mob feel. A group of large tattooed men were arguing about a woman around a pool table. They were about ready to shove pool cues down each other's throats.

"Are you sure this is going to work, Murdoc?" MacGyver hissed.

"Of course. He's an old mate of mine from boarding school, one of the few people who know my secret identity," Murdoc glanced at him, "secret identities are not just for heroes anymore."

"You think you're funny don't you?"

"Funny? I'm adorable," Murdoc countered.

"You're a smartass," MacGyver growled.

"Just one of my many talents, my dear MacGyver," Murdoc brushed off the insult, "It comes in useful during work, especially when first years and faculty are involved," he took a seat at the bar, "don't look so grim. I'll buy you a drink."

"I don't drink."

"I'll buy you something that looks like a drink."

MacGyver took a seat on the barstool next to Murdoc, trying to ignore the fight breaking out behind him. One of the guys grabbed the other and dragged him over the table. The bartender came over to them after a moment, a tall balding man that resembled a brick.

"Scotch on the rocks for me, and a Shirley Temple for my-," Murdoc paused, "friend."

MacGyver looked at Murdoc's pinched face, "are you alright?"

The grizzled bartender served their drinks, "I'm under a lot of stress, MacGyver. My son's missing, the police can't do anything, I have to rely on you and, just to top it off, I have a stack of essays to mark taller than I am," he sipped his drink, "I'm friggin dandy, thank you."

The bartender grinned at MacGyver showing all three of his lovely teeth, "D'ya wanna straw?"

"No thank you," MacGyver said as politely as he could. He fiddled with the umbrella in his Shirley Temple, "Are you sure this guy has what we're looking for."

"Liam has his fingers in everything. The government wants to shut him down, but it doesn't work when he holds all the cards. If he doesn't know, he knows who does," he sipped his drink again, "you know, a Shirley Temple is best drank cold."

MacGyver sipped his drink, and was washed away by the fruity, mock booze flavour. No, he didn't like it much. He looked back towards the pool table as the smaller man grabbed a pool cue from the rack on the wall and used it as a baton against the other man Murdoc didn't even notice the fight behind him, and casually sipped his drink as though nothing was happening.

"Doesn't this place bother you?"

"Why would I be concerned?"

"I don't know, maybe the murder about to take place behind us."

Murdoc shrugged, "Avoid it. They can fight if they want."

"Ed Bloody Murdoch!" Someone shouted from across the building. They both turned to look. He was a small, lithe man with greying hair and popping green eyes. He wasn't dressed like the business tycoon he was, but rather in a pair of torn jeans and an Iron Maiden tee shirt. The man had to be at least sixty, and that begged the question- how old was Murdoc?

"Hello Liam," Murdoc grinned as the man got closer, "You got old."

"Fuck you."

They laughed and the two men shook hands, "good to see you."

"And you," Liam said with a grin, "how's life treating you?"

"Not so good," Murdoc said honestly, "Dane's missing. Please tell me you've heard something."

"I may have," Liam arched an eyebrow, "but why is _he_ with you?"

"Desperation," Murdoc replied.

"Does everybody know about me?" MacGyver growled.

"I have my fingers in everything, me savvy," Liam said darkly, "I know everything, including all of your darkest secrets, so don't piss me off," he glanced at the barkeep, "One to go. Put it on Ed's tab."

"Got it," the bartender said.

Liam sat down on the last available barstool, "I've picked up some chatter about that bastard Fitz. He's been living beyond his means for a while now. My source says that he's been offered a big job."

"What job?"

"Gee, I don't know," Liam glanced at the source of that dumb question, "But I'd assume he's gonna kill someone."

"Liam," Murdoc sighed, "we know this. What else do assassins do?"

"Apparently they sip tea, grow beans and look after children," Liam said cheekily.

"Liam," he rolled his eyes, "just tell me."

"Yeah, yeah," Liam sighed, "I think Fitzy's working with Sonia. She's been making a lot of deals recently for guess what?"

"Thermite enhanced C-4 explosive," MacGyver said into his Shirley Temple before taking another sip.

"Gold star, Mac," Liam sipped his own drink, "I have intel from one of my most trusted informants that they've met several times and have been chatting on the phone and computer for the last couple of months."

"I know that bit," Murdoc said, "I have my own informant."

"Hey," he narrowed his eyes, "I thought Schmitty worked for me."

"Schmitty's a good mate, and unlike you, there are no strings attached."

"I really have to talk to that boy about the company he keeps," Liam said gently, "I haven't got any transcripts of their conversations yet, but I'm leaning on Homeland."

"I'll lean on Homeland," MacGyver said, "as director of tactical operations, I have a bit of power in this situation, and I can get the information legally."

Liam smiled evilly, "My institution is like Guantanamo Bay, in a constant state of legal limbo," he sipped his drink, "but could you do me a favour and send me those transcripts, Mac?"

"I'm doing this for Murdoc," MacGyver said bitterly, "and unlike you, I'm not-for-profit."

Liam picked up MacGyver's drink and sniffed it, "I think someone put something in your drink."

"Do you know anything else, Liam?"

"No. I'll keep you posted," Liam said, "or Schmitty will for me."

"What's the damage?" Murdoc asked.

"Mate, do you really think I'll charge you for information on your own kid?" as soon as Liam had said it, Murdoc's face hardened, "fine, anybody who willingly works with the government in this day and age deserves a break."


	10. Chapter 10

"So, you went to boarding school?" MacGyver questioned,

"Of course," Murdoc shrugged, "where do you think I learned to be so nasty?" he continued walking, "It was worse than prison, and certainly had more hardened criminals," when he saw a cab, he flagged it down and they both got in. Murdoc reeled off his address and the driver sped off.

"I was thinking of going to the college tomorrow," MacGyver told him, changing the subject, "talk to some of his friends and retrace his steps."

"Good idea," Murdoc said, "but aren't you concerned about being that creepy old guy hanging around with the pretty young things?"

"You're not exactly young," MacGyver shot back.

"Yes, but I'm a professor," Murdoc smiled, "I will talk to Miss Connor. She was the last person to see him, and I think she knows a lot more than she's telling the Coppers. I'm not surprised, she probably thought that they were going to shoot her."

MacGyver reflected back to the police report. _He has a point. Sarah Connor's testimony consisted of hanging out with Dane for a while before leaving campus. Apparently Dane went off to the campus cafe to get a coffee and told her that he'd see her later. It's almost impossible that Sarah walked with Dane for that long and didn't notice the shady character tailing them. Was she in on it? Or did she know something else that she was afraid to tell the police?_

"What if they planted something in the dorm?" MacGyver suggested.

"They'll never let us into Dane's dorm, MacGyver," Murdoc growled, "we're two creepy old men, besides, the police still have everything he owns. Either way, we need disguises."

"I think I agree with you."

"Don't," Murdoc glanced at him sideways, "it's mildly disturbing."

* * *

Jane was still awake when they finally trudged in, "and what time is this?"

"How old am I?" Murdoc snapped back, but then he smiled.

Jane peered around the corner, "you're never too old for a slap."

"But I'm too old to get excited," Murdoc teased her.

She raised an eyebrow, "apparently you're not too old to go drinking with Liam," she growled. MacGyver was a little disturbed by her calculating glare. He exchanged a glance with Murdoc.

"Can't get one past you, Darling," Murdoc said with a sigh, pushing past her into the kitchen.

"You smell like whisky, pine and grunge," She said flatly, "well, did he help?"

"All I got was confirmation of what we already knew," Murdoc sighed.

"Sonia and Fitzy are using each other to get their ends, whatever they are," Jane said darkly, "and as soon as they get what they want, they'll probably kill each other. At least the profile was correct."

"What do you do again?" MacGyver asked her.

"I'm a criminal psychologist," Jane said to MacGyver, "I mostly teach, but I occasionally draw up psychological profiles for a select few," she looked right at her husband, "when are you checking out the college?"

 _Criminal psychologist. Of course..._

"Tomorrow morning," Murdoc told her, "that way, we won't be arrested."

"There are still snakes around on campus," Jane warned, "you better take Killer with you. Make sure you do all your work as quickly as possible. By now, the witnesses would have changed their stories and evidence would have deteriorated."

"Jane, I know what I'm doing," Murdoc sighed, opening the fridge, "and apparently the coppers don't because they haven't solved the case."

"Touché. Just do it," Jane said, "and don't ruffle Max's feathers. He's already stuck his neck out far enough for you."

"Yes, Dear," Murdoc said, closing the fridge. There was a chicken drumstick in his hand, and he took a big bite out of it, "what?"

"Chicken rustler."

"And you'll never let me forget it," Murdoc rolled his eyes, "you're not bothered that I killed people for most of my life, you're bothered by the fact I keep stealing chicken out of fridges."


	11. Chapter 11

"Jane hates me," MacGyver said, almost confused, "and so does Alexis."

"They're trying to protect me," Murdoc shrugged, "well, they are my family, and let's just say you weren't exactly _nice_ to me, were you?"

Honestly, MacGyver had never thought of that. He had always seen Murdoc as a sort of inhuman thing, hell-bent on revenge for screwing up his perfect batting average, but MacGyver had never really listened to what Murdoc had said to him when he attacked Nikki and himself back in the cabin, but he remembered it now.

 _"_ _IT'S YOUR TURN TO BURN, MACGYVER!"_

Murdoc wanted revenge for the pain back then, but now he had mellowed out and his family had become angry for him.

"Why don't you want to kill me anymore?" MacGyver asked suddenly.

Murdoc sighed, "Will it change anything that has happened? Will it stop the pain? Will it allow me to finally sleep at night? If I wanted short-term satisfaction, I would call on my wife."

 _Woah. He's really well adjusted!_

"You can sleep in the guest room," Murdoc told him, "it's just around here."

Murdoc led him up the stairs. He was climbing with such difficulty that he must have been in pain. The cold in this part of the house probably did no good for him.

"Can I ask you something, Murdoc?"

"What?" Murdoc said calmly.

"How did you meet your wife?"

Murdoc stopped in the hallway at the top of the stairs and took a seat on a chair by one of his phone tables, "I was wondering when you would ask. We actually met at work."

"Was she your mark or something?"

"Of course not, MacGyver," Murdoc waved him away, "It's a very interesting story, if you have the time to listen."

* * *

June 1989, Chicago

Three months after being electrocuted, nearly drowned and left for dead, he could walk again though not brilliantly. He had taken his grandfathers silver topped cane from its resting place in his Chicago safe house and began to rehabilitate himself. He'd bought a few puzzle books from the local store to stop himself from going completely barmy while he slowly recovered at the safe house.

Four months after being electrocuted, nearly drowned and left for dead, he had been given another job. Despite rumours to the contrary, Nicholas valued his employees, so he organized a simple mission, a milk run. Murdoc's current job was to break into a private collection and steal some shit.

That was how he ended up here in a skin tight vinyl suit suspended from a wire dangling below a tiny cooling duct and above a field of randomly changing laser grid patterns. It was going to be one of those days.

 _"_ _OK, M, tell me the laser arrangement,"_ said a cool German voice in his ear. That was Schmitty. Since Murdoc had been severely injured relatively recently, Nicholas sent him backup, a HIT computer technician whose job it was to make sure Murdoc passed all the computer systems properly without cocking it up. Schmitty was a good friend of his. He was stationed in a security van parked in front of the Shamrock Inn three miles away. At least he was supposed to be.

"It's a DS-849 Mark 2," Murdoc hissed through his earpiece, "Military grade, attracted to movement. If I descend any further, I'm dead."

 _"_ _Speak up a little, M. I can hardly hear you."_

 _Schmitty, if you're drinking on the job, I'll beat you with a sock full of batteries._

"DS-849 Mark 2," he repeated a little louder, "Wanker," he growled under his breath. He heard Schmitty type away over his earpiece. Murdoc looked down at the object that he was stealing. It was a little wooden box emblazoned with jewels.

 _"_ _I've gone through the shutoff codes, M. Any action over there?"_

Below Murdoc, the laser grid shut down and he clicked his ascender into reverse, "Well done, Schmitty. There may be a knighthood in this for you," he slowly lowered himself down the extra metre, grabbed the box quickly and placed a jar of Marmite on the pedestal where it sat, "I've got it."

* * *

With their work done, Schmitty went to the pub. Murdoc took the van out of town and torched it. He hitchhiked his way back into town and hobbled back into his hole-in-the-wall motel room.

Murdoc dropped his duffle bag on his bed. It contained the box he had just stolen, a change of clothes, a pistol with a silencer and the vinyl cat burglar suit that he had just been wearing. He hated that damn thing.

After that, he dropped himself onto the bed and heard a loud, ominous crack. If HIT didn't kip for a better room next time, he was going to resign. He lay down carefully.

He pulled the box out of his bag and examined it. He turned the box around in his hands, examining every tiny detail. It was a pretty little thing made out of oak and emblazoned with semi-precious stones. The box was only a little bigger than his hand.

Murdoc couldn't help himself. He opened the box, hoping that it didn't belong to Pandora.

Inside was a small stone cup.

 _Is that it?_ He asked himself. _Who'd pay top dollar for this? Maybe the box is worth something, but this?_

The cup looked very old, and was made out of a slate like stone. It had chips taken out of the rim, and looked like it had been through Hell. Murdoc knew very little about history; the things he had learned at school had been focused around Britain, and the most interesting thing that happened there in the last six hundred years was the Plague, perhaps because he had blanked the rest of the soul-numbing experience from his mind. He was crazy about Egyptians, but something told him that this cup wasn't Egyptian.

Nicholas had told him that he had a buyer lined up for when he brought the box in, but Murdoc made a point to shop around when given missions like this. Getting a higher price would be beneficial to all of them in the end, except the client of course. He needed more information, so he needed to brush up on his history.


	12. Chapter 12

Chicago 1989

After filing some paperwork, he was enrolled for the next semester of study at the University of Illinois in Chicago studying ancient history. It was early summer, but the semester started quickly with three lectures in the same day, Egyptian Art and Architecture, Middle Eastern Art and Architecture and Chinese Art and Artefacts. He figured that with such a wide spread of subjects; he would be able to find more information about the cup and the box that it was stored in. And besides, what else was he going to spend his many Ducats on?

Murdoc loaned some books, stuffed them in his backpack, thanked the librarian and was on his way. He walked out into the wider hall of the history wing, trying to find his way out of the chrome polished building. He needed some fresh air.

He must have been distracted or something because when he realized what he was doing, he had bumped into a woman walking the opposite direction.

"Damn it," she growled, dropping her books all over the floor. A book hit Murdoc in the toe and he winced a little, "Sorry, Guy."

"No, it's my fault," Murdoc said politely, kneeling down with her to help gather her armload of books, "I wasn't watching where I was going," he stacked some books into a pile and picked them up.

"I ran into you, Mate," she insisted, "And whacked your foot. It's my fault."

Murdoc's face cracked into a small smile, "So, this is how it is? We both take the blame in an infinite loop?"

"I guess so," she said, getting up.

Murdoc got up with a little difficulty and looked at two of the books that he had picked up, "'Psychology of the Criminal Mind', 'Criminal and Psychopathic Behaviour and the Underlying Mental and Physical Contributors'," he bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, "Light reading?"

"They're for my dissertation, Readings of the Criminal Mind," She admitted, and then she looked him up and down, evaluating him, "I see you're new at school. How do you like it so far?"

"It's great. Student life is pretty great, just hectic," Murdoc said almost nervously. It was the most generic answer he could think of, "Do you need help with those books?" He asked.

"No thanks," She said, "But thanks for asking."

"Please, I insist."

"Um? OK, thanks," she smiled at him, "That left by the library leads out to the car park. Just gonna drop these in my car."

Murdoc listened closely to her voice, and then he smiled at her too, "I guess you're not a local girl."

She looked him up and down, "You should talk, English." She put a few more books in his arms, "Come on."

They walked down the hall until they reached some doors. Murdoc opened them for her and they walked outside together. Murdoc blinked the harsh sunlight out of his eyes for a few seconds. He must have looked like a total moron.

"What's your name, mate?"

"Edwin Murdoch."

She glanced at him, "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Murdoc laughed, "I didn't choose that one. Who'd call himself 'Edwin' unless he had to, right?"

"Jane Kidman, no relation to Nicole Kidman. Nice to meet you, I'd shake your hand, but I'd drop these on your foot, again," They walked across the parking lot, "What are you studying?"

"Ancient history," Murdoc answered quickly, "I haven't been to university before, so this is all rather exciting."

"Ah, an immature aged student, huh?" She laughed. Murdoc surprised himself by joining in. Jane made him feel at ease somehow. Maybe it was her slight Australian accent, or the fact that someone around here was speaking English properly.

"What do you study?"

"I'm going for my Doctorate in Criminal Psychology."

"Wow. Are you going to teach or something?"

"Yeah," Jane said, "I'm sick of working for the FBI. I kept being shot at. Not fun. I graduate in a couple of months."

"That's interesting," Murdoc said calmly, however his mind just sighed at him.

 _You cockhead._

They stepped in front of the rear end of a Torana, lime green in colour, "Hold these, please." The car had obviously been imported from Australia, as it was a right hand drive car, and as far as he knew, the Torana was only available in Australasia.

Jane put the last of her books in his arms and reached for her keys. She opened the trunk of the car, "Drop them anywhere," she told him, "Thanks for your help, Eddie. See you around."

Murdoc smiled, "I hope so."

He turned and walked away through the parking lot. She started her car and drove away through the parking lot.

"Why did you have to give her your real name, you massive cock?" He whispered to himself, "Way to put your foot in your mouth."

* * *

When Murdoc arrived back at his motel room, he searched through the books that he had borrowed from the library. Hopefully researching the cup would distract him from the epic foot-in-mouth manoeuvre he had performed in front of Jane.

Jane was unconventionally beautiful with a thin face and a slight overbite. He loved her grey eyes and her red highlighted hair. Why was he thinking about her? His common sense slapped the sentimental side of his brain, and he went back to thinking about the stone cup.

 _You can't like her, you twat. Don't you remember what happened last time?_

According to one of the books, the cup was almost two thousand years old. Apparently the cup was the type that a man would own during the time of Christ. That was interesting, and it could therefore be valuable. The box came later, but he didn't have enough information on it yet.

Murdoc looked at the two artefacts on his tiny writing desk. It would have been easier to take them to one of his professors for identification, but that would alert someone to the crime, and he was too smart for that.

The phone next to him rang, and he answered it after a moment, "Hello?"

"Hello Mr Smith," It was the woman at the front desk, "You have a call at the front desk. Would you like me to switch it up to your room?"

"Yes, thank you," he waited for a few more moments.

"Where are you, Murdoc?" A deep, refined voice over the phone demanded to know, "You should have completed your mission by now."

"Bad knee," Murdoc answered automatically, "I'm shopping, Nicholas. I always do that."

"The Israelis are getting impatient."

"Let them sweat," Murdoc told him. _Israelis? What the hell was this cup?_ "If nothing else, it would be good entertainment. I will call you when I am finished, not before."

"Fine. While you're in Chicago, I need a job. I'll meet you at the bridge tomorrow at three," Nicholas snapped, "Goodbye, Murdoc."

Nicholas hung up, "Goodnight, Sweet Prince."

* * *

Murdoc was only half listening to the chatter and noise in the library. He was thinking hard about something Nicholas he had said. Israelis. Why would they want a small stone cup? He gritted his teeth. He hated not knowing things.

The cup was a dead end, so he researched the box.

The box was vaguely Arabic in design, and was some centuries younger than the cup. That was it. In his last lecture, he had learned that the Arabs valued holy relics of any kind, and sometimes people would chip away at holy relics to use the dust in medicines and the stones as lucky charms. That was very curious to him. Perhaps the cup was a holy relic, and the box was made later as a vessel for it. All he knew for certain was that it was Middle Eastern in origin.

If it was a holy relic from the time of Jesus, that would make it very important to Israel for almost any reason. There was also the chance, as slim as it was, it could be the actual Holy Grail.

Murdoc rubbed his eyes. He had been at this since the library had opened that morning. He yawned and put his head in his hands, "What a bloody nightmare."

"I see you have the Freshman Flu already."

Murdoc looked up, "Hello Jane," He yawned, "What time is it?"

Jane Kidman checked her watch, "Um, nearly one."

"So righteous indignation is out of the question then?"

"It is for you," Jane arched an eyebrow, "You look like you need a coffee." She sat down on the opposite side of the large wooden table.

"Maybe I'll go in a minute," Murdoc sighed, "Do I really look that bad?"

"You look like an ad for dead."

"Thanks for the sympathy," He growled, "I really don't know how I can handle all this loving support."

"Do you want a coffee or not?"

* * *

He arrived late to the bridge closest to his hotel and dismounted his old Triumph motorcycle and approached the figure in the trench coat.

"Nicholas," Murdoc said, "What do you want?"

"While you were in Chicago, I thought that you could do a job for me," Nicholas handed him an envelope, "Go over it when you have time and give me an answer whenever you can."

"You're unusually lax about this," Murdoc arched an eyebrow, "What are you up to?"

"Mind your own business and I'll mind mine," Nicholas handed him an envelope. Murdoc hesitated for a moment. "Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you to be a conniving, greedy and treacherous old prat."

"Those are only some of my qualities," Nicholas said, completely unbothered by Murdoc's quip, "This isn't an urgent job, and the customer is a poorly paying one. Rest up and do the job when you have time. If we string it out, we may be able to press the client for more money."

Murdoc arched an eyebrow, "It may not be for some time," he said, taking the envelope, "I have an essay due."

Nicholas chuckled, "you're the only person I know who chooses to work during their holidays."

"Someday I'll be old," Murdoc said simply, "and I don't want your job."


	13. Chapter 13

JULY 1989

Over the following weeks, he made excuses to see Jane Kidman. He made excuses to stay in Chicago. He began to take his work at the university more seriously, and he was proud of the B+ he had received in his Egyptian Art and Architecture essay. Nicholas and his Israelis were incensed and argued with him about the time that it was taking to finish the job, but Murdoc reminded them that Israel needed HIT because they didn't want to create an international incident.

Nicholas hadn't mentioned the other job again, and he was thankful. He ripped open the envelope early that morning out of curiosity, and he was almost surprised to see the face of his kindly old Egyptian Art and Architecture professor wink up at him from a surveillance photograph. He immediately took a lighter to the photograph and burned it. He would never kill such a sweet old man who had helped him learn so much about the people he loved.

And then there was Jane, sweet Jane. He and Jane were friends, and Murdoc knew that that they could never be more than that. The moment he told her what he was, and he would, she would abandon him. She would be scared of him… she'd hate him for what he was. He knew that he would have to say goodbye sooner or later, but he didn't want to leave. Sometimes he looked at Jane and he saw himself, the way he wanted to be, normal, loved, happy. He liked that life, but it wasn't his life, it couldn't be his life.

Murdoc decided if he couldn't have forever, he'd have now. Almost two weeks after they had met, he asked her on a date with nothing but a nervous smile and a stolen rose. That was a month ago. When she said yes, his heart soared and he had been in a state of cautious bliss ever since.

Murdoc opened the door of a high-class restaurant for her, and she glanced at him slyly, "I thought you were poor."

"I've been working as a box-boy," Murdoc told her with a small smile; "I was hoping to get a better job."

"You can't do worse," She glanced around the restaurant. It was filled with people, dressed to kill. Gold gilded chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the cream coloured walls were covered in old paintings. This place was definitely posh.

She slipped her coat off her shoulders. She was wearing a striking little green dress, and Murdoc had to bite his lip to stop himself from drooling. He pulled her chair out for her so she could sit.

She smiled at him again, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," He took his seat opposite her. He felt his cheeks flush, and he was suddenly very thankful that he had made up his face properly this morning.

"Boy, you can really smell the mould on the old money in here," Jane said, looking at all the other people in the restaurant. Waiters rushed between the tables serving whining guests and she pulled a face.

"At least it's not on the food, my darling."

Jane laughed and Murdoc began to laugh with her. Some of the patrons near them gave them disapproving glares. Neither of them cared.

"What do we talk about now?"

"We could make fun of the normals some more," Murdoc suggested, "Or we could look at the wine list and pretend to be cultured."

"The only culture you have, Box Boy, grows in a Petri dish."

"I came from old money," Murdoc said simply, browsing the wine list, "I was disowned. That's why I have to work a stupid job to pay for my degree."

"So you're less mouldy than these guys," Jane jabbed a thumb at the diners behind her.

"Yeah," Murdoc looked at her, half hidden behind the wine list, "I save a fortune on deodorant."

Jane laughed again, "I bet."

"What about your family?" Murdoc asked her, "I'm sure they have to be more balanced than mine."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you," She swiped some hair back behind her ear, "My family's pretty nuts."

"Really? Was your father an aristocrat, your mother a drunk and your sister sixteen years younger than you?"

"My parents are crazy and I have six brothers," Jane said with a smirk, "My family's at least twice as crazy as yours just by numbers."

"Six brothers?" He asked, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Yep."

"My, you must have been the spoiled little girl in your family."

"Why do you think I left them in Australia?" She arched an eyebrow and drummed her fingers on the table for a minute, "On my first day of school, they put a lizard in my backpack."

"Really?"

"Yeah," She said gently, "Would have been fine if it wasn't a baby goanna."

"Are they poisonous?"

"Let's just say they're not known for their oral hygiene," she said, "The bacteria in one bite can kill a man. They're more dangerous than some of the snakes."

Murdoc cringed a little when Jane mentioned the snakes, "I hate snakes."

"Snakes don't bother me," Jane admitted, "Usually if you stand still and keep quiet; they'll lose interest and bugger off. What I really hate are clowns. Creepy bastards."

Murdoc looked at her disbelievingly. Jane was from a country with the most snakes in the world, nine of the top ten most poisonous snakes called Australia home and she hated clowns. He composed himself after a moment, "What an inconvenient fear to have when you have six brothers."

Jane laughed again, "Well, they're definitely clowns."

"I have no doubt."

Jane looked down at the table setting, slightly confused, "what do I do with all these knives and forks? Throw them at the staff?"

"Only when the service is bad."

"The French eat snails. Define bad."

"Madame and Masseur," a waiter caught their attention. He was a normal enough man with a thin build. He looked a little too small for his tailored white suit. He smiled at them with an ice bucket in his arms; poking out of the top was a bottle of champagne. "Champagne?" He offered.

Murdoc arched his eyebrow at the new arrival. This was a little odd, "Sir," He looked up, "We didn't order any champagne."

"Compliments, Masseur," The waiter said again, politely insisting. Murdoc narrowed his eyes at him. There was something off here, and he hoped that it wasn't the food.

That was about when he noticed that the seal on the bottle had been broken, and it appeared that the cork was on a bizarre angle. He scanned the room, and he noticed a woman with big hair sitting in a shiny blue dress by the window.

Murdoc's face twitched a little. He wasn't going to get out of this situation easily, or get rid of the damn waiter, and so he smiled at Jane, "What do you think, my darling?"

"Is that French champagne?"

"Oui Madame."

Jane pulled a face, "I'm a patriot. Bring me back some Australian champagne."

"Take it away, my good man."

"Of course," The waiter took the wine away. The woman was still watching them from across the room using a reflection. Murdoc knew exactly who she was; Sonia Chapel. Apparently Nicholas wanted to break up his party, literally.

He looked at Jane with a dark expression, "We have to go," He told her, "Now."

"What? Why? We've only been here for ten minutes," Jane protested, "We haven't even eaten any snails yet."

"The woman in the sequined blue dress has been watching us since we came in," His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, "That waiter just tried to serve us tainted wine, and the biggest clue, John Pierre does not and has never offered drinks on the house," He whispered, "Something bad is about to happen."

Her face became stony as she glanced at Sonia and narrowed her eyes, "Let's go then."

And that was about when the shooting started.


	14. Chapter 14

JULY 1989

 _This is the end_ , Murdoc told himself. In mere seconds, the high class restaurant had regressed to a totally shambolic state.

The shooter was the same waiter who had offered them the tainted wine, and now he had no doubt that the wine had been tainted. He was brandishing a submachine gun in his hands. Patrons ran and screamed all around them, but the shooter aimed expertly.

He wasn't aiming at Murdoc, he was aiming at Jane.

Murdoc didn't think. He simply didn't have time.

He upturned the table and threw himself over Jane, the pair of them clattering to the ground. A bullet nicked his shoulder, but he barely noticed. He pulled her to the relative safety underneath another table. He grabbed Jane's black coat from the back of the chair and pressed it into his bleeding wound.

"Eddie, what in the name of Jesus H Christ is going on here?" She whispered hoarsely.

"I don't know, Jane."

"Excuse me, Mister," She snapped, "You seem to be the one to ask. You saw it coming, and unless you have a crystal ball stashed somewhere on your person, I can't see how."

With Jane and Murdoc out of sight, the shooter began to fire wildly, bullets peppering the plaster walls of the restaurant. Diners were still screaming and crying, searching for cover. The gunman walked between the tables purposely. Murdoc peaked out from under the tablecloth. Sonia was gone.

"Don't be shy," The gunman said, dropping his fake French accent for his real Russian one.

"I want to know," Jane demanded to know. She gripped his arm tightly, seizing his attention.

"I'll explain it to you later," Murdoc hissed, "If we survive."

He began to kick over the tables. Cutlery clattered to the floor. Terrified diners flattened themselves to the floor, their hands on their heads. The gunman took no notice, "Come out! Come out, wherever you are."

"Are you scared?" Murdoc asked her.

Jane narrowed her eyes at him, "of course I am, you twit. The last thing I thought I'd be doing tonight was hiding from a psychotic Russian with a fully automatic weapon."

Murdoc patted down his suit, very little in it was useful. He had a pair of brass knuckles, a stiletto knife and a fifty dollar note, none of which would be useful for them to make a clean getaway.

"What were you expecting to do tonight?" Murdoc asked her almost jovially, dropping Jane's coat. Nothing in her coat was helpful either.

She cast him a dark look, "I wanted to eat some snails and go home with a cute guy, alright?" she snapped, "I definitely didn't plan for some nut bag to ventilate my frontal lobe with an AK."

"I didn't exactly plan on this," Murdoc snapped back, "If I knew that this wanker would shoot up this restaurant, I would have gone out for pizza."

"Right, whatever," Jane growled, rifling through her handbag. Murdoc looked around as Jane pulled something out of her handbag, a can of sorts. She handed it to him, "What about this? Will it help?"

"It certainly will," Murdoc turned the can of Mace around in his hand for a moment before grinning, "I like your style."

Their table was the next upturned, but Murdoc was ready.

He blasted the Russian in the face with the Mace. The Russian yelled and dropped the gun. Murdoc grabbed Jane's arm and pulled her to her feet. The pair ran towards the huge glass window. The Russian clambered for his gun. Murdoc threw himself shoulder first through the window, being careful not to leave any blood. He landed on his back and rolled with the impact to his feet. Jane raced behind him and helped him to his feet.

Bullets followed them through the busy street, and the traffic stopped, everything just stopped, except Jane and Murdoc.

Murdoc pulled her into a nearby alleyway, "Are you alright, Jane?"

"No," She growled, "I went back to school to avoid this type of situation. What the Hell have you got me into?"

"Yes, Murdoc," Said another voice, an American woman, "What have you got her into?"

* * *

Murdoc stood in front of Jane, shielding her. Sonia Chapel stood before them in the alleyway, still wearing her sparkling dress aiming a pistol at the pair. She was far enough away that the Mace wouldn't reach her. It had no use.

"There's a bounty on the girl, Murdoc," Sonia told him, "You'd kill her yourself if you knew what was good for you."

"Leave her alone, Sonia. She is under my protection," Murdoc told her, "You'd stay away from her if you know what's good for you."

"You know full well that the business doesn't work that way," Sonia bit at him icily.

"You know this nutcase?" Jane asked him.

"It's a long story for another time," Murdoc said to Jane, "I'll hurt you if you come any closer, Sonia. I don't want to do that."

Sonia smiled icily, "I see the girl has made you soft," She hissed, "I would love to gut her in front of you to watch you squirm."

Jane pulled herself a little closer to Murdoc in what could be almost mistaken for fear. Her hand curled around his, and took the can of Mace out of his hand. Murdoc stepped a little closer to Sonia.

"You have to get through me first."

"My pleasure, Murdoc," She cocked her pistol.

As quick as a flash, Jane pulled her arm back and brought it forward with spring loaded precision. She bowled the can of Mace at Sonia like a practiced cricketer.

Sonia had no time to react. It hit her in the face, hard. While she was disoriented, Murdoc sprung forward and punched her in the face for good measure. She fell to the ground unconscious.

"The pleasure was all mine."


End file.
